Quite Right, Too
by Hollywoodx4
Summary: A collection of oneshots, drabbles, poems, whathaveyou involving the Doctor and Rose. There'll be different forms, different friends, and plenty of fluff:)
1. White Blank Page

White Blank Page

_A white blank page, and a swirling rage. _He felt his insides retreat from numbness and allow his gripping, terrifying pain to come back. He tore the page from its book, shredding it to pieces in order to release some of his tension. He felt bits of his grief subside as he watched the paper fall like a blanket of snow, covering the pristine-looking floors of the TARDIS.

Relief never lasted long, though, and soon he was tearing volumes at a time, no longer singular blank pages but those that contained thousands and millions of brilliant thoughts, thoughts he had once been so able to drown himself in. It made no matter if "The Great Gatsby" was scattered across the floor; Jay had gotten his heart broken as well, maybe this would save the fictional man from his eternal written prison. Even the Docto's most prized literary companions joined Gatsby; Moby Dick, a hoard of Dickens's characters…What was once read to subside pain was now a collection of tinder for the fire in his hearts.

He sat then, in the pile of white shreds, and looked upon the mess he had created/ His favorite things, his only eternal companions, destroyed by the sorrow that never seemed to end. The Doctor threw off his bowtie, kicked away his shoes, and began to weep.

A comforting hand found its way to his shoulder, and he was met with consoling brown eyes and a concerned façade; a face so sweet, so gentle and a mannerism so similar to the companion he'd found himself weeping over once again. Clara, however, was not his sweet Rose, and for that another round of tears fell.

"_Tell me now, where was my fault in loving her with all my heart?" _Clara was not daft; quite the opposite, she was brilliant. From the few things the Doctor had told her, and the name he continued to murmur as he wept, she knew that his pain centered on one thing; Rose.

"I don't know what you did, or how things happened, but there's nothing wrong with the way you love Rose." And with that she left, allowing him to pick up the scraps of paper as he continued to think.

There were words still intact, he realized, and looked upon the fragments in curiosity and renewed zeal. Some were tiny-a, than, of- while others –Brocklehurst- were full of memory. (Many a companion had thumbed through that copy of Jane Eyre, Rose most frequently so that he could still see where she'd underlined the parts she liked best-until he'd gone savage on his books.)

_Forever._ The fragment had come about when the mess was nearly gone, but instead of rage or sorrow (although both were still felt with ferocity) a grin was most prominent on his features. It was a sad smile, but still a smile.

(…)

_"Aren't you going to get tired of me?" The Doctor had asked Rose one day, after a very long happening of events. She looked up from her book and smiled, shaking her head._

_ "Forever, remember?"_

_ "If I mess up, if I anger you…"_

_ "You won't." She's vehement, shaking her head and looking into him with honest eyes._

_ "If I do…" He's frightened, terrified of losing his Rose although he knows it's selfish and he can't keep her forever. She senses for the first time that he may not actually believe her promise._

_ "Lead me to the truth." She says, her soft voice consoling him. "_Lead me to the truth, and I will follow you with my whole life."

_He makes some teasing remark, and they end the night with tea and jokes in the library, cuddled close together._

_(…)_

He leaves Clara at the market the following day, and when he returns he carries a stack of new books.


	2. Beauty

Beauty crowds me 'till I die,

Love's sharp echoes fill my soul

Until I have become claustrophobic.

The thrill of adventure hides under my bed

Wonderlust lurks in the shadows

Crusading cravings claw at my closet

But is it the adoration of adventure

Or the loss of love once blossomed

That tugs so vehemently at my heart?


	3. Clandestine

Clandestine

There are things he won't tell her, things bottled in a mind much older than appearance lets on. There are actions privy to all but his own knowledge that must be done as she sleeps peacefully, when he won't be disturbed.

He remembers, he imagines, he weeps.

He thinks that he is remaining unseen, unknown.

Rose Tyler has taken up a reputation of seeing right through him, of knowing more that her pretty, love struck eyes will let on. She notices through his own eyes his pain, his memory, his need for a hand to hold on to his own.

His clandestine nights are joined by someone pink and yellow. At first, he does not agree with having company. She takes hold of his hand, and he is melted. Home.

Great care is taken as she shuts the door behind herself, although they are currently the TARDIS's only two occupants. The illusion of privacy is just as vital as the privilege itself. And they are alone, the Doctor and his Rose, hidden away and remembering, finally remembering. She keeps hold of his hand, asking careful and occasional questions, not pushing when his tired, silent eyes grow just a bit darker.

The most important thing, however, is her listening. Rose is attentive, leaning forward and nodding her head. She rubs the back of his hand with her thumb, soothing. He looks up at her and it met with patient eyes, trusting hazel; a color that will not leave him.

The past, she says, is just that…something that's _passed. _

But he's done so much, seen too many deaths. His hands rake through flyaway hair and he sighs.

She speaks of scholars, his Rose, and her eyes move from sorrowing pity to shining and bright, infectious as he catches himself grinning as well.

"…And then there's you," She says, emphasizing the pronoun with a trace of love so clearly written that he cannot mistake her statement for anything but one preceding compliment. "The things you've seen, the things you've done, and you're still here, Doctor. You're alive, and you're well, and brilliant as ever." She knows that letting herself in on his secrecy was a good choice when he squeezes her hand, unsure of what to say while his softened eyes speak volumes.

"_You, _Rose Tyler, are brilliant." He moves his hand to her cheek, urging her closer so that he may plant a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Everything will be alright, you hear? And any time you need to talk…"

"You can help me remember." She laces her fingers through his one last time, her other hand resting reassuringly on his shoulder.

"Goodnight, Doctor."


	4. Clara

"Where's the other me?" He asked, looking around cautiously. The Doctor didn't _want _to see his copy per se, but something about the fact that Rose was not with him was unsettling.

"He died a few years after you left us"

"And...kids?"  
"Just one. She...disappeared around the time her father died. I never really figured out

why, or how. I just...I knew that I needed to get back to you, although it seemed impossible at first." Rose paused, looking down at her feet before continuing in a soft voice. "Did you meet anyone? Or are you on your own"

"I have Clara at the moment"

"C-Clara…"

"...what?" He stares at Rose. Her face has turned pale and her eyes flicker across his face in utter disbelief.

"That was her name. Clara."

"No, she's still travelling with me. She's back at the TARDIS" he said, confusion taking over the unfamiliar features. "Do you want to meet her?"

She hesitates, not sure if she should say yes. More than anything she wants to meet the girl who's been traveling, who's gotten the same opportunity as she once had, but she does not think she can handle her name and the memories it brings forth.

"...Alright."

The Doctor leads the way, an amazing smile plastered over his face. His Rose was back, and it was a remarkable feeling to have her hand in his again. Although he was in a new body, their intertwined fingers still seemed to fit just as well as they always had.

The moment's eyes land on the all too familiar blue box her heart froze, and for a second she found it hard breathe. Unlike the Doctor, the TARDIS had barely changed. Feeling slight warmth growing on her chest she pulled her TARDIS key from under her shirt. She looked at the Doctor, he nodded grinning. She stepped forward. Hand slightly shaking, she pushed the key into the lock and turned, taking a deep breath as the door swung open.

Clara looked up from her work to see a head of blonde hair walk through the door, turning for a moment to talk to the Doctor. He was following this girl, completely rapt in what she was saying.

"Clara!" He called, walking briskly toward her. The blonde followed close behind but not as fast, giving her a polite smile. Those eyes...Clara blinked and glanced at the woman again. She looked familiar, like someone she had once known although she could not put a finger on a name. "I want you to meet someone. This," He gestured to the blonde. "Is Rose Tyler."

She gaped at the woman then, Clara, and realized why she seemed so familiar.

Rose Tyler was her mother's name.

Rose Tyler was her mother.

She'd found her. After years of searching, of being frightened and dying and overcoming fear before dying once more, she'd found her mother.

"M-mum…" Clara stammered quietly, but Rose heard the words slip though this strange girl's unfamiliar mouth and felt herself freeze over. This girl wasn't unfamiliar. She was finding it hard to breathe. She stared at her lost and then found again daughter, all grown up…she was the perfect mix of herself and her Doctor. She tried to hold back the tears-she really did- but they came nonetheless. She couldn't stop looking at Clara and so the pair just stared at each other, searching for words that were not coming to them. The Doctor just looked on, bewildered. He hadn't caught what Clara had said.

"Clara." The name came out as more of a sigh, as a breath she had been holding for an eternity. She ran across the console, wrapping her daughter in her arms and willingly letting the tears fall. She held her at arm's length, looking her over. "Look how you've grown!"

Clara couldn't help the monumental smile spreading across her face as she continued to cry. "It's been so long." she managed. Clara took in every contour of her mother's face, trying to memorize it as if she was suddenly going to disappear. For a moment she stood, staring with that same relieved grin on her face until something dawned on her.

"Dad?" She asked. She saw fresh tears in her mother's eyes, and Rose shook her head before looking at the Doctor. It dawned on her. Technically, her father was standing right in front of her. Rose clapped her hand to her mouth. "Oh"

"I don't...what?" The Doctor looked between them, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion although he understood clearly what was going on. He let out a small smile, looking at Clara in a new light. All this time he had been traveling with her...

"She's our…well, me and the other you…our daughter." Rose said slowly looking back at Clara, whose face was unreadable. She was looking at the Doctor with something that resembled horror.

"Yes I caught that" he let out a nervous laugh, looking at Clara again .He could not believe it had never crossed his big stupid mind. She was them, it was clear as day. The girl he had been traveling with was completely and utterly Rose and his tenth regeneration.

"Sooo..." He nods his head, and the three are stuck looking between each other in slight awe. "Does this mean I'll have to go all domestic on you?"

"Oi!" Rose moves to smack him on the arm but gives him a grin, happy to be back to the way things should've been. A mock hurt expression took its place his face for moment and his girls couldn't help but laugh.

"I don't do domestic" he pouted, looking at Rose.

"Funny, neither do I." Rose grinned, her tongue between her teeth in that way he had always loved. This was the smile that he could never refuse to return.

"Well lucky for you I'm very good at domestics. You'll just have to suck it up." Clara smiled in an almost identical way to her mother, who looked on at her in pride. Although she'd only gotten to raise her to the age of three, she felt as though no time had passed at all. She still, however, had about one million questions to ask.

"Okay, I'm sorry to break up this moment but how did this happen" Doctor gestured between the two of them.

"The usual way, Doctor." Rose replied sarcastically, earning a less then amused look from the Doctor. She took a deep breath and sighed "I don't know... on her third birthday she was just... gone" she said slowly, turning to look at Clara. The sadness in her mother's eyes almost stopped Clara's heart; there was so much in that one look.

"I remember waking up that morning and putting on my best dress. After that, I remember hearing mum in the kitchen and going to run down the stairs. Then I was somewhere else, and it was snowing. I couldn't find you, and I was scared, so I ducked in a shop and asked if they knew you. They said no and I cried, so they called the police. They couldn't even track down your name. I was stuck in an orphanage until I was about five and a half, and then I disappeared again." Clara's eyes seemed hurt as she told the story, remembering things through the mind of a three year old with flyaway pigtails and a pretty blue party dress.

Rose felt the tears flow as she listen to her daughter's story, her hand clasped over her heart. She did not even think about fighting the urge to pull her closer.

"Oh my baby" she choked out. She moved her hand to the back of Clara's head, engulfing her in an embrace. "It was never meant to be like this. We thought it was all fine, the pregnancy went fine and when you were born nothing was abnormal but ..." she cut off and looked at the Doctor hopefully. He knew from her now desperate eyes that she was hoping he had an answer for this.

"It's alright, it's fine. I mean, we managed back together in the end, didn't we? I learned a lot having to be by myself for a bit, and now I get to be with you." She looked between her mother and sort-of-father and smiled. The Doctor shook his head, his eyebrows furrowed.

"How does somebody just disappear like that? More than once I might add..."

They all just all stood silently looking around at each other before all of a sudden the Doctor jump towards the console, bringing the screen round to him typing furiously before stepping back. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

"Not that then" he said sighing before silence fell again

"Is it worth it to try and figure it out?" Clara asked, crossing to stand next to him to see what he had been doing. "I mean, I want to know what's going on as much as the next person but I just want to live with you guys and...I don't know, be as normal as we can for a while. Go on adventures together, see the stars..."

"It's worth it if it means I won't lose you again, Clara." The Doctor looked over at Rose with a look she couldn't quite place. Her voice had grown stern, her eyes cold. At that moment, the Doctor knew that Rose had seen much more pain than she'd deserved since he'd left her.

Clara looked at her, her face filled with disappointment like a scorned child. At the same time there was a clear sense of understanding and compliance.

"I know but at least not right now, can we... I don't know sit down and talk? Be... well, a family for a moment." Her eyes were so hopeful that Rose just melted. They needed to figure this out and fast, but surely a breather couldn't hurt. They all surely needed it…They had all been dealt a huge blow.

"Oh god" Clara whispered suddenly "I kissed my sort of dad" It suddenly dawned on her and she placed one hand on the console to support herself as she covered her face with the other.

"Excuse me?" Rose said, the tone of her voice a bit higher in pitch than normal. "You two...you..." She wrinkled her nose and shook her head, and then put her hands on her hips. "You kissed him? A man you've only just met? How long have you been traveling with him?" She directed her pointed questions at Clara and while her daughter stammered, taken aback by Rose's more stern tones, the Doctor merely laughed.

"S'not funny!" Rose exclaimed, smacking the back of his head lightly. He brought a hand to where her own had made contact with his head and winced.

"You can't say much of anything about that, Rose Tyler." He chided, shooting her a mischievous grin.

"And why not?"

"She's just like you were, if you remember..."

Rose gaped at him when... Cassandra. Shocked, she turned to Clara

"You jumped him" It was not a question, but a statement. Rose could tell what the Doctor had meant just by the tone of his voice and the glint in his eyes.

"A little bit"

"And openly wayched my butt as I climbed that ladder" the Doctor pointed out.

"I was stuck in the eighteen hundreds, do you realize how frustrating..."

"Oh god, don't finish that sentence please." Rose cut in, resting her palm on her forehead.

"Besides, he doesn't exactly look like the dad I knew" Clara muttered, receiving a unreadable glance from her mother

The Doctor pulled up a chair to the console and began to tinker with something, not really wanting to hear his Rose and the daughter that was sort-of-technically his daughter have this conversation. When he could no longer hear their voices he looked up, setting his hands in his lap.

"Right then," He began, his voice ringing with a hint of silliness although most of it read business. "There are a few things about this conversation that are making me a bit uncomfortable. First off, I'm still not sure if I do domestics and I certainly don't do rows like this. Second, I have kissed both of you and you can see how uncomfortable this might make me. Third, I've learned in my time that the Tyler woman may have a tendency to jump people, so in all honesty who are either or you to have a say in this argument? This new body of mine is fantastic, I get it."

The girls looked on at him with incredulous expressions and were silent before he continued.

"Also, I would really like a banana right now, and possibly a cup of tea in case you were curious."


	5. Echo

Wasting Forever

He can nearly hear the ghost of her voice, a long-passed echo that still remains and catches along the walls at times. He hears her light timbre singing softly, not particularly to anybody or for any purpose other than entertaining herself. The whirring of the kettle joins her as she takes it from the stove and prepares yet another cup of her favorite tea.

He smiles, breathing in a scent that isn't there. The Doctor can practically feel the warmth of the kettle, the steaming mug and its aromatic herb combinations and the sound of Rose cussing when she somehow manages to burn herself. Again.

He crosses to his bedroom then, not particularly tired but feeling the weight of emotion finally beginning to plague him. It feels heavy on his shoulders, this burden, and he excuses himself from the room to be alone.

Amy and Rory won't notice anyway, he guesses. And although they are his friends, although he loves them and their silly domestic ways, he can no longer be around their romantic banter.

It all seems too similar, and the back of his mind is much too ready to remind him of this.

He comes across a room he hasn't seen in a while. The Doctor had never once said his new companions couldn't set foot in the room, and yet it remains seemingly untouched. It is as if it has been hidden, kept away from prying eyes for his sake. Now, he is ready to go back.

He is right under the assumption that the room has been untouched. Everything is the way she left it, and this fact almost makes it harder to look upon its slight chaos.

The Doctor runs a hand along the dresser, expecting to find a thick coat of dust from the untouched room. He finds, however, that the space is immaculate in the prospect that there is no lingering dust, nothing that would make it seem as though it hadn't been used for more than a day or two. He finds himself opening one of the drawers to find it still brimmed with colorful fabrics. A light piece of cotton is pulled from the pile and he rubs the cloth between his fingers before setting it back down, letting himself give it one last glance with heavy heart.

He moves to her bed, fingers finding the soft fabric of her duvet and staying there for quite some time. He is frozen, looking upon the time capsule room. He is remembering.

_A sliver of light teases Rose's happily closed eyelids, and she groans as she opens them. She sits up immediately, however, surprised to see the Doctor standing in her doorway._

"_Doctor?" She rubs the sleep from her eyes before stretching, allowing her sleep-mussed tresses to fall as they please._

"_I was just, erm, checking on- weell I wouldn't say that but…Maybe I was-" He shakes his head. "I wanted to make sure you were alright, but I can see that you are with your nose and your lips and your eyes-ah, your beautiful eyes."_

"_C'mere,"_

_He hesitates at first, but she beckons him with an outstretched hand and finally the Doctor complies. He stands still at the side of her bed for a moment before taking her hand in his. Rose leads his own hand to the side of her cheek and he closes his eyes upon impact, relieved to feel the rivets and freckles he's grown so used to seeing. The vision from his horrible nightmare, he realizes, was just that; he'd never have to see his real Rose Tyler faceless again._

"_Bad dream?" Her voice is soft and breaks a diminutive silence he hadn't even realized was there. The inquiry does not even cover what he has been through, but he nods in response anyway. Words, he finds, will not escape his lips or form rightfully in his brain. His hearts beat fast with the loss of fear and the addition of pure relief. Maybe, he thinks all too late, the rapid pulse has something to do with their proximity, the fact that his hand still lingers on her face, the pad of his thumb tracing lazy circles along her cheekbone._

_He removes his hand from her temple upon this realization and runs it through his flyaway hair, mumbling incoherently until she prompts him to speak up._

"_I should, erm, let you sleep and all that."_

"_You could stay here if you wanted…"_

_He is taken aback by her invitation and yet excited by the prospect. Not in _that_ way, he argues. Something about the events of the day compels his need to be with her. He moves to the small armchair in her room and she watches, laughing, as he tries to fit his gangly legs comfortably. She finally looks over and gives him a small smile, patting the space next to her before voicing the suggestion._

"_I don't take up that much room."_

_He wakes up two more times throughout the night, but can feel her steady breathing when he wakes. Each time he does, he checks to make sure that the nightmare isn't real. The Doctor glances down to see Rose with her head on his chest, legs tangled comfortably with his as she dozes peacefully. Her eyes are closed, her face intact, and so he joins her; finally content. The terror of the night isn't real, but the beautiful dream is._

The Doctor removes his fingers from the duvet and lets his body fall completely onto the bed. This movement is delicate, however. He does not want to rid the room of the fresh, flowery smell that hits his nose as the bed moves with his weight. It takes him a moment of staring, of finding the ceiling's patterns, never changing, rather intricate and a good distraction from all of _this, _of these feelings he can no longer hold in.

He rolls over, smothers his face in her pillow, and takes a deep breath. The scent is overpowering now, these memories so believable that he half expects her to walk through the door and shake her head at him. He pictures her with hands on hips, smiling in that same cheeky tongue-through-teeth manner he'd grown so accustomed to, had grown to love so dearly.

This room that he has frequented, a bed that he had slept in…When did it become such a hardship to enter this room full of memories? Especially, he laments, when the memories were so wonderful?

The Doctor moves his head to the side so that he can see her nightstand, and his eyes lock on a singular object. He hears her laughter, can feel it radiating through the simple Polaroid she's framed. He hadn't wanted to get the photo taken, but he'd done it for her. She wanted something 'just in case,' something to remember him by in case she had to leave.

All of the effort of the photograph and she hadn't gotten to take it with her.

"_Doctor, don't be daft." He hears the echo of her teasing tone, sees her blonde hair as she turns her head and the way it follows her before settling down her back. He watches her grin move and then the back of her head as she walks away. He follows, not too keen on her idea. To Rose it's simple, really; a single photograph to remind herself of them, of their time together and how much she's enjoying it. Granted it's years before she's supposed to exist, but she does not find this daunting. To the Doctor, the photograph could be something used against him, finding its way to malicious hands._

Her _hands, however, are soft and her brown eyes pleading. He tries to avoid her gaze, but his efforts are in vain. He nods and her face lights up as she looks for somebody to take their photo. The Doctor finds a candidate in an older man, who is pleased to let the pair have a Polaroid from his film._

"_Anything for a happy young couple." He grins and the pair smiles back, neither accepting nor denying the man's claims although quite frankly they aren't quite sure of exactly _what _they are. Instead the Doctor snakes his arm around Rose's hip, pulling her flush to his own frame. Her hand finds his chest, where she leans her head. The older man begins to count down to the moment he'll take the picture, and at the last second Rose feels a tickle at her side. She laughs and shoots the Doctor a look before poking him back._

_The result is a shining-eyed Rose and her Doctor, close together with gaping mouths, in the middle of an infectious round of raucous laughter and tickling. He'd never been so happy to see those eyes, he recalls._

He opens his eyes again, realizing just how lost he seems to have been in his daydream. Amy stands in the doorway of Rose's old room, glancing around at the unfamiliar yet girlish surroundings, wondering just what the Doctor hasn't told her.

"_I didn't mind, you know." Rose says, taking hold of his hand with her free one. The other clasps the Polaroid. He turns his head to her, confused, and she takes this glance as a question. "That people think we're…together."_

He blinks at her, and she pretends to ignore the fact that he's wiping at his eyes, trying to shake some sort of feeling away.

"_I'm glad." He replies simply, not sure of what else to say regarding that matter. He thinks over the things he _could _say, the things he's been wanting to say to her since he uttered the word 'run,' but he bites his tongue. They walk in silence for a bit longer, but Rose will not let the subject go. For some reason, she is feeling quite brave._

He sits up on Rose's bed then; smoothing the wrinkles he's made on her duvet. Amy watches as he pauses, not quite ready to leave.

"Do you…want to talk about it?" Amy asks, still standing in the door. He looks at her, his eyes full of something she can't quite read. There's something, she surmises, irrevocably missing in his life. There's something hurting him.

"_I just…sometimes, I feel like we are, y'know?"He knows. He feels it too, he wants to reply. He does not, though, because she's not yet done. "And it wouldn't be such a bad thing."_

"_I suppose it wouldn't." This earns him a smack upon the arm and he laughs, shaking his head to indicate that he's just kidding with her._

He shakes his head, not quite sure if he'll ever be ready to talk about it. Rose…Rose was something special. Something he doesn't think he'll ever be able to get over.

But maybe talking will help.

"Her name was Rose."

"_I mean, I told you I'm staying forever-"_

"_-You won't have forever-" She glares at him with this reminder, but in a way that is laced with admiration and determination and…love. He imagines he must be dreaming, but she displays it so clearly, without any shame…He wishes he could be more like her, more like something she deserves._

"Did she travel with you?" Amy moves a bit farther into the room, looking upon the belongings of the mystery person. She stops to look at the photograph, smiling a bit at his old form, at the happiness so clearly written on both of their faces.

"Yes." He rises from her bed now, and his red-haired companion follows him as he makes his way from her room.

"Did you love her?"

"_I'm just saying…Forever's a pretty long time, even if it's only _my _forever. That's a lot of time to waste." Somehow, he gets where she is going with this. He squeezes her hand and then moves his own so that it is wrapped around her waist, so that he is half-hugging her as they walk back to the TARDIS._

"_Well then it would be a shame to waste your forever, wouldn't it?"_

He closes the door to Rose's room and now they're standing outside of it, he and Amy. The Doctor takes one last, lingering look at its white wood and gives her a forlorn smile. Maybe talking about things won't be so bad. Maybe it will help.

"More than anything."


	6. Fighting Words

Fighting Words

She's never been a damsel,

Rose Tyler.

Distress came and went,

She sent help away.

Popular among boys and slighted by girls

During the days of playgrounds and bruised knees

She was able to dish back their teasing.

The playgrounds have gone,

The time has come,

And Rose Tyler certainly isn't changing now.

She doesn't know if he'll save her

(Does he think she _needs _saving?

Does he sense her sorrow?)

She's never waited before

And she sure won't now.


	7. Goddess

Goddess

Rose Tyler is a goddess; the universe kneels at her feet and showers her with kisses, marvels at her simple beauty. She is not worshipped, nor does she wish for that to happen, but rather is humble and kind. Rose is someone to believe in, someone that even the most sorrowful of Timelords can instill hope in.

She is a genius, brilliant and unlike any other he's seen although she never managed to get her A levels. She can take a problem and solve it in a matter of mere seconds, but that's not all. She is brilliant because she is able to help, able to see through people and situations he could not even fathom.

She is a fighter, his Rose, fierce and protective and more than ready to stand for what she believes in. Along with the fight comes ferocious bravery, the ability to shut out her fears because she knows that her help is more important than her own safety, although he would argue otherwise. Her bravery worries him, but it never worries her.

Rose Tyler is a healer, one of a way with words and comforting eyes, with a way of making everything so much brighter in even the darkest of situations. She talks, she listens, and she acts upon the comforting words she promises. She leads the Doctor from the darkness and onto a path of acceptance, of seeing the light in people again.

She is loved, his Rose, for these traits. He adores her so fiercely, so completely, that she is able to keep a prick of fear inside of him. He is not afraid of her, no, but for the things he feels and their inevitable end.

But Rose Tyler is a goddess, a fighter, and when she promises forever she will not back out of her word.


	8. Let Her Go

Let Her Go

He's staring at the ceiling of his dark bedroom, same old empty feeling lingering in his hearts. The Doctor's eyes trace made-up patterns in the expanse of white above his head, his mind wandering.

At times he sees fish darting in ponds, pigs rolling around in wide miles of glorious mud. Sometimes it's a Dalek, or a Cyberman, staring back at him with dark and glaring expressions until he summons the fearful patterns away; these things, and always his Rose.

Her bright eyes appear in his ceiling game first, twinkling with the same awestruck wonder they held when she was traveling with him. Next her nose, upturned when she was feigning haughtiness, wrinkled as she finally laughed at one of his jokes. Then his mind conjures ears, eyebrows, flushed cheeks and blonde hair whipped by the wind; His Rose Tyler stares back at him with a grin playing at her lips.

Suddenly she's panicked, then shocked, angry, and then he watches as tears pool in his beautiful ceiling Rose's eyes. He slams his own eyes shut, so tight a force he exerts that after only a moment he must open them again to stop the pain. His Rose has not ceased her crying.

He swears he can feel her warm teardrops falling on his cheeks as he looks up at her in desperation.

The Doctor conjures more fish, these koi, and tries to make them swim again. His mind will not work to his advantage. Soon, they're swimming in the lake of Rose Tyler's tears.

The swirls of the white expanse of ceiling seem to move again, and there's his Rose confessing everything he'd wanted to say to her; and there she is again, and she's found him and _my god _is she happy. They're holding each other and it could be the most crowded street, the most dangerous of times, but Rose and the Doctor would still be clinging to each other.

Forever was her promise, and she never took promises lightly.

And then she's upset again, and all he wants to do is wipe that frown off of her face. She's wondering why he's making leave, what she could have done wrong. She doesn't want to leave…she's _never _wanted to leave, and he can read that in her miserable, searching eyes.

It's too painful, and the pigs are back and rolling around in the ceiling-mud, and it's more than disorienting for the Doctor. He can feel real tears, tears of his own now, lining his cheeks and dripping uncomfortably down his chin.

He stares helplessly as she confesses her love again, this time more with her eyes than her words. He tries to reply, to conjure the syllables, but they will not come.

She asks him what he meant to say the last time, and so badly he wants to tell her everything; how he adores reading to her in the library, cuddling by a fire as she tells him her own stories. He loves the sound of her voice, light in timbre and blissful in tone as she sings in the shower. He'll miss the taste of her tea and the sight of her shining eyes over the brim of her mug, masses of blonde hair falling carelessly around her. The Doctor wants to tell her that he's never given up on her, and how amazing it's felt that she hasn't yet given up on him. He wants her to know how she's saved him in detail, to illustrate every moment they've had and exactly how she's transformed him. He wants to tell her how he'd give up anything and everything for her.

The Doctor's already given up everything, though, because for him Rose Tyler is just that.

He rolls over to his side and stares at the wall instead, refusing to let his mind's ramblings go at a structure that will be unable to respond yet again. He closes his eyes, feeling the pain in his hearts as he listens to the TARDIS, humming low in attempts of soothing her broken navigator.

The Doctor knows that she won't be able to find him again, but she's safe. He knows…he _hopes _that she's happy, and the mere thought is enough to temporarily bandage his hearts. That was the thing, he realized; he'd always believe in his Rose, and she'd always heal him.


	9. Mirrors

She has trouble looking in mirrors.

After Jimmy, after the sleepless nights spent with her mother's consoling, understanding voice watching over her, Rose Tyler realizes that she is no longer who she was. She realizes it's cliché, hell, she wishes it weren't like this. She wants to fix her hair, to apply makeup without having to worry about looking into her own tired eyes.

A day after Jimmy the bags are dark and prominent under dull hazel eyes, and she has to look away from the gaunt, lifeless face she does not recognize. She has looked into a mirror only to find a stranger's gaze staring back at her. A week after Jimmy the bags are slowly disappearing, and after a month they are completely gone. These things do not matter, however, because the light does not reach her eyes the way it used to.

She wakes up, goes to work at the shop, and comes home. Her mother is always waiting, talking her ear off about things seemingly unimportant to Rose. She sees the fear in Jackie's eyes; underneath the motherly adoration and happiness…she's worried about losing her daughter again, and all Rose can think about is a life with more meaning.

She still has difficulty with mirrors.

He's different, she realizes. She knows this about him before she really even _knows _him; something about the piercing blue of his eyes, the way they look so much like hers and yet so different. _Hers _have failed to put forth their light while his flicker between emotions with such ferocity that she wonders just how this man can stand it.

They look into mirrors together.

His eyes are dark, unwilling to let go of things he won't admit. His blue is made of ice, cold and unforgiving. Her brown is the bark of a tree, once strong standing but now frail and easily bent. She agrees to go with him, wishing for something more than the shop and the life she's gotten so used to.

The colors return to her eyes.

He notices one day, weeks later in her time, as she lays on the console floor. He's fixing something and they're chatting amiably about a subject she doesn't really know much about. His constant use of ridiculous adjectives (such as jiggery-pokery) makes her giggle, and he's laughing right along with her. He catches her eye as she hands him his Sonic, and his smile softens.

"Your eyes…they're beautiful." He's caught off guard and so is she, and she blushes and turns away from him for a moment. He catches his own reflection through one of the shinier bits of the TARDIS, and he's met with a blue he almost doesn't recognize. His own eyes are sparkling, and although he's used to the new color they've never shone like this. He grins and continues to work, quite liking the new vision of himself.


	10. Never

There's something about the way the ocean continues to kiss the shore, the way young children continue to frolic in fields of high grasses even after the threat of bees is realized and experienced. He knows that he is mentally younger than his previous regenerations, feels it within his silly actions and cheeky remarks. Maybe the child in the field has rubbed off on him, born from the love he experienced with his Rose.

He had _been _a child back then. Well, she had made him feel like one. They walked across tightrope sandboxes, fought in furious backyard battles, teased the queen and became more than just two lonely souls. Rose became more than just the girl he fancied; no, it was much better than that.

They became more like the ocean and the shore, the Doctor and his Rose. As much as the universe tried to tear them apart, as horrible as their fate seemed to be, nothing would be able to separate them. She would always be around to help, would always ask the questions she knew he wanted to answer about his latest little projects. He rarely became terse with her, couldn't bring himself to stay angry at her for long. He felt drawn to her, with the need to be near her increasing with the time they spent together.

The thing about becoming the ocean and the shore, however, was the fact that one could not live without the other. It is true that parts of the ocean, certain drops, may evaporate before even catching a glimpse of the glorious stretch of sand-but even then its life revolves around getting there, being pulled in and pushed away from it. He had gotten glimpses of her, been so fortunate to be a front and central drop in the waves.

The Doctor was grateful for those glimpses, although he had always known that things couldn't last forever. He'd evaporate; have to find somewhere else to go. He was fleeting. Maybe he'd become a raindrop, falling and collecting and falling all over again, never truly as attached to anywhere or anyplace as much as his shore, his Rose, and her Cardiff. He knew it, too, although it hurt to think about how attached he'd let himself become. Without her he felt the void, felt the unmistakable note of her absence within every trace of his life in the TARDIS. Sure, he'd had other companions, but they were more of clouds and storm drains to him than his shore, his comfort.

He thought it selfish, the Doctor, to seek the shore when he'd only just left it behind. He loves the feeling, however, of thinking he just might see her again. It may be stupid, might make him seem daft with his head stuck in the same clouds he's come from, but there's no better feeling than the twinge of hope he harbors. There's nothing better than watching the sun on the horizon, than seeing the first glimpse of the shore the ocean's missed so much.


	11. Nothing Gold Can Stay

Untitled Hallucination Sequence

He drifts along the street as if he's being carried by a cloud. Its darkness, the weight he feels rising in his core, indicate to the Doctor that it is not a fluffly, billowing cotton cloud that aids him in his travels, rather a dark and dingy one. Storms rumble and reverberate, churning in its endless and swirling grey depths. Nevertheless he feels weightless under his feet despite his led heart, and he is a bystander to his own actions as his feet carry him along.

He is tired…Not in the way that a human would need sleep to rejuvenate, no, much more complicated than that. He is weary, sick of his loss, of saving the world just so the following day can be ruined once more.

Clara has stopped chatting from her place next to him, and he is thankful that she seems to understand his need to be alone in thought. Instead, she grips his hand in comfort as she walks and he glides, keeping him rooted to the solid earth.

The world around him seems to have a strange, residual glow, as if it carries some godly, beautiful and golden radiation. He glances around in awe, as if everything is new and bright. Suddenly, Clara feels his hand push her own away, and a look between worried and purely delighted crosses the Doctor's features.

"What if she saw, if she thinks…" He whips around to face her and stares right in her eyes, making sure she'll understand what he's about to say. "You're my friend, just that, and if she asks you just say you're a companion. I don't want to ruin things again…"

She knows, but she cannot tell him that. He's wandered away, stopped at the window of a café; a run-down joint with a sign bright in its window on neon paper. Condemned. He's muttering under his breath. She sighs.

"Was this place…was it important to you?" He presses his hand against the dusty glass; his eyes wandering, searching.

Through the glow of his vision he's spotted the head of blonde hair, a woman sitting alone at a table and poking absentmindedly at a basket of chips. Her hazel eyes are wandering, as if she's waiting for someone. A rush of emotions crash into his gangly limbs; their favorite place, their same basket of chips…Rose Tyler is waiting for him just as he's been hopelessly waiting for her!

He runs to the door and begins to pry it open, gripping its handle with white knuckles. It's locked. He's tugging furiously, listening to the rhythmic BANG BANG BANG of resistance as the door refuses to budge. He hastens back to the glass, pounding on its grimy surface and shouting her name, eyes watery and voice pleading.

As Clara pulls him away from the building the world loses its gold haze, and he stumbles blindly back into reality with absolute refusal from his own mind. He cannot believe the dissipation of his world, the bright 'condemned' sign glaring down at him.

"There's nothing here," Clara coaxes, leading him to a bench so that he may sit and collect himself. "_She's not here, she was never here_. She's safe, you've told me she's safe!"

"You don't know her!" The Doctor glares up at her, eyes as golden as the haze they'd rimmed his world with, ablaze with fresh accusation. "You never knew her, never got to be with her the way that I did." His voice cracks and he quiets, stunned by the noise and the violence his voice had taken. He'd been using words as weapons, shooting them at this doe-eyed girl merely because she hadn't seen what he had; and what _had _he seen, really, but a hallucination of what once was, what _should be._

_ "I loved her once,"_ He chokes, and it's not until the soft and feeble words hit the stale Earth air that he realizes what he's said.

"Once?" Clara asks, sitting next to him with the same concerned expression his Rose would have. He shuts his eyes before her, unwilling to face the wide eyes so much like the ones he's missing.

"A long time ago." He casts his head down, moving to fix his bowtie before fiddling with his hands in his lap. "I suppose I still do."

"And what happened?"

"She's gone. She's happy." As Clara talks, her voice attempting to soothe and console, he shuts his eyes tight, blinking furiously, but the gold-rimming will not come back into his world. A hallucination where he can see his Rose, although he cares for Clara dearly, is where he needs to be.

The gold-rimming does not return, and it is only an hour later that Clara is able to drag him from the bench and back to the TARDIS. He flips the switches half-heartedly, bringing them to yet another adventure. His companion cannot help but notice, however, the increasing sorrow in his eyes. The gold is gone. He is alone with his company, the way fate dictated for him, in time he could not change.


	12. Persuasion

Persuasion

A word so simple,

Smooth as silk slipping between her lips;

One syllable

Nearly meaningless to others

(Her strange power over him).

A hand so soft,

Delicate and gentle,

Electricity flowing in a current throughout him.

_Please._

Eyes shining and wide,

Begging him to give in to her, and

Always, he did.

Tongue between teeth,

Her arms tight around him,

Two syllables.

The same electricity

The same power

_Alright._


	13. Valentine

Valentine's Day

Rose wakes up to the sound of what she knows are converse hitting metal grating, frantic sprinting up and down the halls. She chuckles to herself and buries her head in her pillow, not quite ready to get out of bed yet. It isn't until the smell of charcoal, of newly ashen matter hits her nose that she's clamoring out of bed, bare feet slapping against the grating as she searches for the Doctor.

He's in front of the stove, bright red extinguisher in his hands as he stares at the space where he quelled what had once been a congregation of roaring flames. His back is facing her. When he's sure the fire's gone, he brings the back of his hand to his brow, sighing in relief.

His sigh is joined by Rose's amused giggling, and he whips around to face her in both panic and embarrassment.

"Oh, erm, good morning. Didn't know you were up yet." He watches her smile widen; she's amused by his embarrassment. Pajama-clad Rose crosses her arms over her chest, shaking her head at him.

"Good morning, Doctor." She glances for the first time at the true mess of the kitchen; plates and cutlery are strewn across the table. The kettle is on and whirring furiously, and the Doctor in his flour-mussed suit pants stares back at her with an amused half-grin.

"And what's all this?" Rose asks.

"Well, it's Valentine's Day!" He throws his hands into the air as if she should have known all along, nearing exasperation.

"How d'you figure, relative time and all?"

"Oh, weell, I just…complicated, wibbly-wobbly Timelord things. The explanation would bore you, really."

"So you're just declaring it Valentine's Day." She guesses, seeing right through his sheepish expression. The Doctor nods and Rose's grin turns to one of mischief, holding a teasing tone that seeps into her voice. "I thought you said you didn't do domestics."

"Oh, I don't." She says nothing for a while, smiling wildly and sauntering around the kitchen before moving the whirring kettle from the heated burner on the stove.

"So, is all of this," Rose gestures around her at the slightly beautiful chaos. "This non-domestic kitchen mess, your way of asking me to be your Valentine?"

She watches in amusement as the Doctor reddens, opens his mouth to reply, and then shuts it once more. He's flustered, eyes looking anywhere but at her own hazel orbs.

"Because," Rose moves toward him then, lacing her fingers through his own before glancing up at him with shining eyes "I believe my answer is yes."


End file.
